Overkill
by abrynne
Summary: Con't from Truth or Dare - A new number is up; a man who has inadvertently created the best disguise for himself. But, he can't stay hidden forever, which makes for some unusual situations for John, Harold, and, as of very recently, Sam.
1. Same Old

Here we go again! Have some more Sam!

Just so you know, this one is a little lighter than the previous stories, which you should read before reading this if you haven't already - starting with "Dark Horse".

Thanks for reading and enjoy!

* * *

It was late. The city street was empty and quiet apart from the distant sound of cars driving a few blocks away.

Two girls rounded the corner, running flat out. Their hair streamed out behind them – one, a dark brunette, the other golden blonde. They ran at top speed down the sidewalk, some distance ahead of their pursuers – four men, all armed.

Their breathing was labored, and the blonde clutched at a cramp in her side. She slowed, but the brunette grabbed her hand. "Come on, Courtney, just a little further." She tugged her along, and they ran hand in hand across the street, onto the next deserted block, flashing in and out of sight as they moved under the streetlights.

"Around the next corner," a voice said in the ear of the brunette.

"What took him so long?" she asked, her voice jerking as her feet pounded the pavement.

"He was held up by her family members."

She risked a glance behind them. Two of the men had just rounded the corner they'd left behind. She smiled. At least they were faster runners.

"Four guys for one teenage girl is a little overkill," she said out loud.

"Some people like to be thorough," the voice reasoned.

The woman with dark hair slowed and pulled Courtney into a shallow stairwell along the sidewalk.

"Where's the key?" she asked.

"In my pocket. Why?" Courtney looked scared, her face coated in a sheen of sweat.

"Give it to me."

"Sam," Courtney said uncertainly. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Trust me, Courtney. You'll get it back," Sam smiled as Courtney handed a silver key over to her.

Sam kept it in her hand and listened. The footfalls of the guns for hire were closing.

"Let's go," she tugged on Courtney's arm again and they ran.

The men saw them and shouted, but the girls didn't stop. Sam and Courtney skirted the corner, their pursuers not far behind now.

Sam squinted down the street and saw a tall figure walking casually along the sidewalk. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, and he didn't have to be.

"Just down to the corner," Sam said to Courtney.

Courtney nodded and grunted with the effort to keep up her speed. Sam held out her hand, the tall figure did the same. When they met Sam slapped the key into his palm and continued running.

"Who was that?" Courtney said, looking anxiously over her shoulder.

"He's a friend, don't worry." Sam slowed and stopped at the corner.

She peered around it as Courtney bent over, her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

"You'll want to see this," Sam said, grinning. She wiped her face and watched as her tall friend intercepted the four gunmen.

"Are you looking for this?" Sam heard him through her earpiece, and saw him hold up the key in his hand. The gunmen turned their focus on him.

Courtney stood next to Sam and watched as he clotheslined the first of the group with his outstretched arm. He landed hard on the sidewalk and didn't get up right away.

"There are _four_ of them, though," Courtney said in disbelief.

"Yeah, but he's got this," Sam replied.

They stayed at the corner and waited while he fulfilled Sam's prediction. Two other men went down, shot in the legs. The last one suffered a punch to the face, kidneys, and the face again. The first one had gotten back up and fired his weapon.

"Crap," Sam muttered and pulled her gun from underneath her jacket. She started forward, but stopped as she watched. The shot knocked him off balance, but he charged and the gunman went down quickly after that.

Sam's friend straightened the suit jacket he wore, turned, and walked back the direction he came. Her breathing had slowed. She leaned against the wall of the corner building and sighed.

"That's it?" Courtney asked, bewildered.

"He's pretty efficient," Sam said. "But that's not all of it."

John stepped around the corner, under a streetlight.

"Oh jeez," Sam moved forward and focused on the blood coming from his upper arm. "Don't you get sick of having holes put in your shirts?" She asked as she tugged his jacket off of him.

"I don't put them there myself," he pulled his arm out of her grip. "We can take care of that later." He looked at Courtney. "Hello, Courtney. I think this is yours," he took her hand and placed the key in it.

"John, you are _bleeding _– there is blood from inside your body going down the outside of your arm," Sam tried to put more emphasis on the importance of his injury. She took the knife that was in John's jacket pocket and made a cut in the jacket itself. She tore the fabric, making a narrow strip, and tied it tightly around John's arm.

"Feel better?"

"Yes, I do, thank you," Sam said, handing the knife to him. He pocketed it, took Courtney by the arm, and started down the street again.

"Who are you people?" she asked.

"We're the people who found out about your family's plot to change your father's will. But, as he left mostly everything to you, and made you the executor, you were in their way." John explained as they moved quickly down the street.

"They hired those men to kill you," Sam continued. "That lock box key is the only thing that was keeping them from replacing the real will with a forged one." She kept her gun out, holding in her hand as she kept pace with them.

"But Dad's lawyer would never let that happen," Courtney protested innocently.

John forced out a laugh. "I'd hire an attorney of my own if I were you. Someone not already connected with your family."

"Courtney, it was Mr. Dodson, your Dad's lawyer, who helped the family forge a fake will. He thought he was getting shafted too," Sam explained.

Courtney blinked and her mouth opened in shock as she tried to wrap her brain around what they were saying. "Where are we going?"

"We're taking you somewhere safe. In the morning, you can hire your own lawyer and sort out this mess."

A car pulled around the corner and the police lights flashed at them. Sam dropped back in the shadow of a building as John and Courtney approached the police car.

Lionel and Carter stepped out of the car. Sam listened as John explained the rest of the situation to them and said goodbye to Courtney. Courtney, realizing Sam was no longer there, looked around the dark street, but didn't see her first rescuer as Carter helped her into the back seat of the car.

"That poor thing will have to watch her back for the rest of her life," Sam said, falling into step with John as he walked by.

"I know the feeling," John muttered.

"But she can at least hire some security guards." Sam checked his arm. Her makeshift bandage was nearly soaked through.

"Well done, you two," Finch said over their phones. "I tend to get more satisfaction out of the cleaner cases we deal with."

"Clean? Harold, John is bleeding to death and won't admit it," Sam tattled.

* * *

"Just do it," John said irritably.

Sam held the small pair of pliers in her hands and stared at John's left arm as if she were about to wrestle it. She'd cut through the sleeve of his shirt, cleaned up the blood and they both examined the damage. The bullet was still inside.

"I'll do it," he reached for the pliers, but Sam held them out of his reach.

"You're left handed. You'll poke your eye out."

"I've done it before, Sam," John said testily.

Sam took a breath. "I can do it. I just have to… psych myself up first."

She stood in the middle of the floor of the office John and Harold lovingly referred to as HQ. Finch sat at the desk, pretending not to hear what was going on as Sam placed her hand on John's arm, next to the wound. She adjusted the head of a desk lamp that shown on John's injury. She just barely made out the glint of metal inside the wound.

Sam took the pliers, and went for it. John inhaled sharply through his teeth as she worked. But after only a few seconds, Sam pulled the pliers away. They held a tiny, crumpled piece of metal that still had flecks of blood on it.

"Suck on that, nursing school that I never would have gone to because people's innards nauseate me!" Sam said triumphantly.

She tossed the bullet into the garbage can and cleaned the rest of the wound before she put a thick wrap of gauze around it. She topped it off with some medical tape, and stood back to admire her work as John got to his feet, the shreds of his shirt sleeve draped limply around his arm. He stepped past her and disappeared in between the book shelves for a moment.

Sam sat down in the chair John had just left and rested her head back against the wall. It was early morning, at the beginning of another a New York summer. She closed her eyes for a moment and listened to Finch's nonstop typing on the keyboard just a few feet away.

"You can go home and get some rest if you want, Sam," he said.

Sam opened her eyes and found his. Harold swiveled around in his chair to look at her. John reentered the room, buttoning up a fresh shirt.

"You can as well, Mr. Reese," Finch said, glancing up at John. "We've done all there is to do tonight." He turned back around and focused on the computer monitors. Sam honestly believed that Finch was able to tune them out when he wanted to, and therefore, if one of them protested, he wouldn't have heard it anyway.

She stretched as she got to her feet. "Good night, Harold," she said.

Finch didn't respond, as expected.

Sam followed John down the stairs and onto the barren street. She checked the time on her phone. It was 2:33am. "When was the last full night's sleep you had?" she asked.

John seriously considered her question as they walked together. "Probably that time I nearly drowned in the Hudson," he said.

Sam nodded. She remembered that night very well. Sometimes the memories would surface in her dreams. She'd see John floating aimlessly in the water, but in the dream, she wouldn't be able to pull him back up to the surface, as though he had weights tied to him.

He was right, though, he'd had a full night's sleep and then some. And that was about three or four months ago now.

To Sam, time didn't carry the importance that it once did. People kept appointments, people set alarms and had lunch hours. Sam used to be that way too, but for several weeks now, she was awake when she had to be awake; she slept when she slept; and she treated bullet wounds when they needed to be treated. Time didn't matter when you worked with John Reese.

If this was affecting her the way it was, John's internal clock was most likely shot all to hell by now. He probably adjusted to travel better than most people, though.

"I really hope she'll be okay," Sam said, referring to Courtney. "She had no idea. She didn't even suspect anything when I dragged her out of her apartment."

"You had to drag her?"

"Not literally, exactly. She was convinced when we were standing on the fire escape and she watched those guys with guns burst into her room."

John smiled a little. "That would do it. She'll be fine, Sam. Carter will take care of her."

"What about her family?" Sam asked. She'd been dying to ask since she ran past him on the street, but never had the chance. Sam was supposed to get Courtney out of danger, while John was supposed to prevent said danger from even happening by confronting the family members responsible for hiring the muscle.

John shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face. "It was her extended family. They'd already sent the dogs after her by the time I got there. But… I don't think they'll try it again."

Sam laughed, and rubbed the tired out of her eyes.


	2. Number's Up

Sam was officially and legally dead. She had severed her ties with the world because, frankly, it had disappointed her. The only thing in the world that never ceased to amaze her, and never disappointed her was John Reese.

Since her 'death', Sam helped John and Harold Finch in their unusual line of work, which was saving lives. Not like a doctor, or a police officer saves lives. She remembered the day that Finch explained the machine to her. Finally, she was learning the truth about the source they used to predict murder. The machine tracks everything and everyone. It pulls up a social security number or numbers of the individuals who will be involved in a murder that is about to take place.

Sam had met John before her number came up. But when it did, that's when she came to know him and Harold. Her family had died, her life had done a complete one eighty, but those two were still there, steady and solid. Sam knew then that she never wanted her life to go back to the way it was. Somehow, she knew where she belonged.

The call from John was late in the morning the next day. Sam made her way back to HQ and saw the two of them already bent over the computer monitors when she arrived.

"Sam, we have a new number," Finch said. He always said it like he enjoyed it. Sam couldn't quite figure it out.

Sam went to the plastic sheet they used as a sort of pin up board and looked at the picture Finch had taped there earlier.

"Alan Michael Watson," Finch read.

Sam saw the picture and gave a short whistle. Alan Watson looked to be in his thirties, clean shaven, dark, satiny skin, high cheekbones, and large, light eyes.

"What?" John and Finch looked up in response to the whistle.

"Hm?" Sam blinked at them. "Oh, no, he's just – he's just very… pretty."

"It's too early in the game to crush on him, Sam," John teased in his obvious way.

"No, I wouldn't. I'm just making an observation. I'd never want to be with a man like that. He's beyond handsome, he's… well, he's _pretty._ Like model-pretty, you know?"

Finch stared at her as if waiting for further explanation, but she just shrugged and looked at the picture again.

"He has no record," John said. "He's not originally from here either."

"Yes," Finch tapped away on the keyboard as John stood up. He moved over to Sam and looked over her shoulder at the photograph again.

"I don't see it," he said.

"Alan Watson is originally from Centennial, Colorado. His family has a large estate there. It looks like they own a lot of the businesses in that city and the cities surrounding it."

"Rich and pretty," Sam said.

"Not exactly," Finch corrected. "Alan moved here almost four years ago. His bank account is rather pitiful. I don't believe his family is supporting him. He keeps a job at a place downtown called Chic."

Sam grinned as she made the connection in her head. "Oooooooh," she said. "Now it makes sense."

John and Finch again looked at her expectantly.

"Oh dear," Sam said when they didn't realize what that meant. "Um, Chic is a place Eva and I used to go to when we liked staying out all night and she was single. We even went a few times after she was married, now that I think about it."

"It's a club," John said simply.

"Well, we liked going there because we didn't get blatantly hit on like we would at, say… a sports bar. And the stage show was usually pretty spectacular."

John and Finch watched her, waiting for the punchline, completely missing her hints. Sam swallowed back her laughter. "Come on you guys! It's a transvestite bar! Alan's probably a tranny." Sam leaned in and looked at the picture again. "And he probably looks better in a dress than I do," she muttered.

John set down the coffee he was holding and grabbed his suit jacket.

"Where are you going?"

"Chic?" John said innocently.

Sam couldn't take it any longer. She exploded with laughter, nearly collapsing to the floor with the effort.

"Did we miss something?" Finch asked.

Sam took a couple of breaths and wiped her eyes. "Um, maybe I should go in alone, John. You can listen in on everything that goes on," Sam suggested without looking at him.

"Why?" John asked.

"Let me see, how can I put this delicately?" Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. "John, you are not ugly, okay?"

"Thank you." John looked confused.

"I'm not finished," Sam said, trying to choose the right words before they came out of her mouth. "Women tend to notice when a man is tall, like you are, and not ugly. _But_, we as women are a little more constructive in the way we would approach a tall man who is not ugly, if we decided to approach him at all."

Finch nodded. "Oh, I think I see now."

"Sam, I'm more comfortable with the direct approach," John said stiffly.

"Well you'd get it, that's for sure."

"Sam."

"John, they would hit on you like there's no tomorrow," Sam blurted helplessly. "If you went in there alone, it would be constant and distracting. Trust me, I've seen it. It's different on the street and in regular places, but in clubs like that, that's what happens."

"You don't think I can handle that?

"We took my brother into Chic once," Sam said. "He was pretty young at the time, just barely twenty or twenty-one, I think. He never got the chance to watch the stage show, and he made me swear on pain of death that I would never do that to him again."

"Perhaps Sam should go with you, Mr. Reese," Finch suggested mildly.

* * *

Sam and John argued in their quiet, sniping way all the way downtown. They finally decided that John would stay outside of the club and listen in. Sam would go in and ask about Alan.

Chic, being a night club, was open during the day, but mostly for rehearsals, maintenance, and cleaning. Sam opened the door and stepped in. She smiled broadly at what she saw.

A small stage was at the far end of the room. There were a few dancers on it now, preparing for a show that night, most likely. There were some other men working at the round dining tables next to the dance floor. Another man stood on a ladder, adjusting one of the lights in the ceiling. The bar was off to the side being attended by a tall woman in heels. And everywhere she looked were colors. Blues, pinks, purples and reds were in the lights, the floor tiles, even the elaborate, flashy murals on the walls.

Sam wandered in and sat down at the bar.

"Holy shikies!"

Sam looked up and saw the woman bar tender approach her. She blinked and adjusted her thoughts. It wasn't a woman. It was a man with a heavy jaw, broad shoulders, in full makeup and a wig. He wore a tight t-shirt and jeans. Sam immediately wanted to know what kind of eye shadow he used.

He reached across and lifted her hair away from her face, examining her thoroughly through heavily lined eyes. "Sweetie, you are _stunning_! Honestly, I never would have guessed that you weren't always this way!" He smiled with shockingly white teeth at her.

"Always what way?" Sam asked.

"Augh! And that voice. Do you sing?"

Sam's brain was frantically trying to figure out what he meant.

"He doesn't think you were originally a woman, Sam," John said helpfully.

She heard the smug smile in his voice and made a mental note to thwack him when she left the place.

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry," Sam smiled kindly. "No, I am a woman, born and raised. I'm Sam," she reached out her hand and shook the larger manicured one.

"Cal," he replied. Cal looked her over again and nodded. "That explains it. Those can't be fake." He pointed blatantly. "You're such a cute little package, aren't you?"

"Thanks," Sam blushed with embarrassment.

"What can I do for you, honey?"

"I'm actually looking for a friend of mine. I heard he works here," Sam pulled the picture out of her purse and slid it across the bar under Cal's eyes.

"Alan Watson?"

Cal smiled with his bright teeth. "Oh, Alina! Yes, I know her. She usually works nights when the club's open."

"Does he – I mean, she tend bar here?"

"Oh no," Cal shook his head, long red curls bounced around his face as he did so. "She's one of the entertainers. Lovely, lovely singing voice, that bitch."

Cal laughed and Sam laughed with him. "Well shouldn't she be rehearsing?" Sam pointed to the dancers working on stage.

"Nah, she comes out and sings a few numbers throughout the show each night. She rehearses on her own time, I think. Where do you know her from, anyway?"

"We went to school together back in Colorado," Sam said happily. "We were in a couple of the musicals together. I heard she was out here so I'm looking her up."

"Well, you're much nicer than those guys who came in here yesterday looking for her," Cal said offhandedly. "They were nasty."

"Who were they?" Sam asked curiously.

Cal looked to his right, then to his left, and leaned down on the bar, his face close to hers. He lowered his voice. "They said they were lawyers, but do lawyers carry guns?"

Sam held tightly onto her purse, which contained her gun.

Sam lowered her voice as well and leaned in closer to him. "Did you tell them that Alina works here?"

"I didn't get that far. We have a strict no gun policy even outside of business hours. Jackie kicked them out about a minute after they walked in." Cal smiled with satisfaction.

"Jackie?"

"He's one of our bouncers," Cal explained with a shrug.

"Do you know what those men wanted with Alan, or, sorry, Alina?"

"I didn't ask, but you're pretty curious yourself, aren't you?" Cal said, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Alan and I were friends, I just – "

Cal's eyes left Sam's. They drifted, and were focused on something over her shoulder. His mouth dropped open slowly. "Hold everything, it must be my birthday," Cal said breathlessly.

John stepped in as Sam turned, and caught his eye. He smiled and walked purposefully towards her.

"Looks like he knows you," Cal said, grinning. "Does he?"

"Yes, he does," Sam glanced back at Cal. "Don't worry about it, Cal. He's straight."

"For now, he is." Cal said, lifting an eyebrow.

"You just couldn't resist, could you? You want to prove me wrong," she mumbled at John as he approached. He took the stool next to her and put his hand over hers on the bar.

"Cal, this is John," Sam introduced them. "John is my… fiancé."

Cal closed his mouth and blinked. "Hi there, Blue Eyes." Cal winked at him, and brushed his hair over his shoulder flirtatiously.

"I needed to talk to you, sweetheart," John said, tearing his eyes away from Cal and focusing on Sam. She sensed the urgency in his voice under the kind tone. "We can come back later to find Alan," John spoke kindly, but his grip on her hand tightened.

"We'll be open tonight," Cal said helpfully, his eyes still raking over John. "The show is really good."

Sam smiled at Cal. "Thank you for your help."

"Any time, sweetie," Cal said, looking at John, who didn't meet eyes with him.

Sam slid off the stool and put her arm around John's waist underneath his jacket. John opened the door for her, and they stepped out.

"Why did you do that? I was making headway," Sam snapped at him when they stepped onto the sidewalk and she pulled away.

"We need to get to Alan, not find out his life story – "

"And I've made some headway of my own," Finch said in their ears. "It seems there is some bad blood between Alan and his family."

"I'm not surprised. A lot of parents wouldn't approve of this kind of life for their son," Sam said as she walked with John to the car.

"I have also gotten video surveillance from inside the club yesterday afternoon. Sending it on," Finch said.

John pulled out his phone and Sam looked over his arm as he accessed the video. The feed was from a camera in the corner of the club, above the bar. Sam saw the top of Cal's head, or his wig to be more accurate, and two men. They were nicely dressed with neck ties and trench coats, even in this warm weather.

"They're professionals," John muttered.

Sam watched them closely. It was difficult to make out their faces, but they both had dark hair, but she couldn't decipher skin tone from the black and white feed. But they walked with long strides. They carried themselves and acted confidently, like John sometimes did when he entered a room.

"Professionals like you, you mean," Sam said.

"Mr. Reese is more of a special case," Finch corrected in her ear. "These men are trained, probably ex military of some sort, and they hire themselves out to the highest bidder as hit men."

"Alan's family could put in a decent bid, don't you think, Finch?" John asked as they reached the car. Sam got into the passenger side and John started the engine.

"That's awful. Why would they want to have their own son or brother or whatever murdered?"

"That's what we have to find out," John said as he pulled away from the curb.


	3. Switched

After further discussion, John agreed with Finch that the hit men were probably from out of town, and very good at covering their tracks. And out of the three of them, John was voted as the best at covering his tracks and, as a result, he took the assignment of getting to the assassins before they could get to Alan, while Sam went back to the club that evening to find Alan and get him… her properly hidden.

Sam walked out onto the street, and immediately had to shorten her strides in order to keep from falling over. The heels she had on were much higher than the ones she was used to. She stumbled a little, but caught herself and straightened out the spangly dress she was wearing before crossing the street to the black sedan that was parked illegally along the curb.

"What the hell is that?" John asked when she got in, averting his eyes as she did so.

Sam moved the seat back and crossed her legs, simply for the effect. "What the hell is what?" she asked, pulling down the vanity mirror and checking her makeup. Her large silver earrings were twisting on themselves again and she began fixing them.

"I didn't realize we were _trying_ to attract all of the perverts in town," John said sardonically, gesturing to her.

"This is what you wear when you go to a place like Chic, I swear!" Sam leaned over to adjust the strap on one of her shoes, and John looked away again. "But you think I'll attract every pervert in town? You sure know how to talk to a girl, John Reese."

John started the engine and Sam smiled to herself as she watched him stare determinedly at the windshield.

It was a little overdone, but a skimpy, sparkly dress, high, platform heels, and a crazy hair up do would get her some decent attention at the club. She even put some shimmer cream on her chest and shoulders for extra oomph. She would blend right in. Sam pulled the thin strap of her dress back onto her shoulder after it had fallen off, and straightened the bodice while she was in her seat.

"Tell me that's one of Eva's," John said, still focused on the street ahead of them.

"Come now, John, you know that everybody thinks I'm dead, including Eva. I can't really go into her house and steal her old clothes," Sam teased. "Actually, I found this when I moved," Sam said excitedly. "I hung onto it for whatever reason. I never thought it would come in handy. And it still fits to boot!"

"No," John shook his head seriously. "No, it does not fit."

* * *

Sam opened the door to the sedan and stepped out when John pulled up to the curb. A small, and very colorful crowd was gathered at the door of Chic. A large, angry looking man stood at the door letting a few people into the club at a time.

Sam stood up to her full height outside the car, and John averted his eyes as she adjusted the dress once again. He didn't care what she said, or how she reasoned it, that dress, if you could call it that, was not necessary on any level. John feared that Sam would have an unfortunate… accident of some kind whilst wearing the thing.

John rolled down the passenger side window, and leaned over so he could see her face. "I'll call you when I'm on my way back."

"Roger that," Sam saluted and turned away.

"Sam?"

Sam moved back to the window.

"Do you have your gun in there somewhere?" John pointed curiously.

Sam winked. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll see you later."

John regretted asking the question, or even thinking the question because now all he could think about was where she could possibly store a weapon on her person and keep it concealed whilst in that getup.

He waited until Sam was accepted into the club by the enormous bouncer – it didn't take very long. She looked back once over her shoulder and stepped inside.

"Mr. Reese, these men will want to keep a low profile," Finch said as John drove away.

"We've established that already, Finch."

"Yes, well, I don't believe searching the city hotels will be useful."

"They'd be going for something cheaper."

"I suspect so."

"We might have to wait until they make an appearance again, Finch. There's not a lot to go on otherwise."

* * *

Sam entered the club. The lights were low, and the black lights were burning, along with neon lights, and multicolored spotlights across the room. The place was jumping with colors, smelling of cologne, perfume, and booze.

Sam eased her way over to the bar and rested her arms on the top. Cal was serving drinks as fast as he could make them. He noticed Sam and waved, giving her a big bright smile that glowed brighter under the black light. She waved back and glanced at the stage. The curtain was drawn across it. The music she was hearing was being played over a speaker system.

Cal eventually made it over to her. Sam ordered a drink, and leaned across the bar.

"Have I missed the stage show?" she shouted over the music.

"No, honey. It doesn't start until nine. You could commit _ murder_ in that dress," Cal reached forward and touched up a curl in her hair and examined her earrings more closely. "Is that delicious man of yours here tonight?" He asked, his eyes roving over the crowd.

Sam mimicked disappointment, and shook her head. "No, he had to work late."

"That's a shame. If anything, he should be here just to keep an eye on you in that dress," Cal said with a wink. "But, there's still plenty of eye candy around."

Sam laughed and thanked him as he set her drink on a napkin on the bar.

"Where did you get your shoes?"

Someone touched her shoulder and Sam turned. She faced two men, one in full makeup, a dark wig, and an evening dress, the other wearing only eyeliner and maybe a little blush, and suspenders over no shirt.

Sam leaned forward, asking them to repeat the question. The one in full makeup pointed down, mouthing the word '_shoes' _to her.

"Oh," Sam looked down at the ridiculous platform heels. "It was Macy's I think. I got a sale."

"You're so pulling them off!" the one in makeup said with a smile. "I couldn't do it. My ankles aren't dainty like that. I'm Bridgette by the way. This is Jasper."

Sam happily shook their hands and introduced herself.

"When did you get your work done?" Jasper asked.

"Work?"

"You have such a great face, and I don't see any evidence of Adam's apple," Jasper lifted Sam's chin, examining her throat.

"No, no, I'm a natural woman," Sam corrected.

"You are now, sweet thing!"

"Seriously. I was born as a woman, I swear." Sam held up her right hand and crossed her heart with her left.

Bridgette and Jasper laughed. "You don't have any friends with you tonight?"

"No, just me," Sam shrugged and took a sip of her drink through a thin straw. It was astoundingly fruity.

"We have a table over there," Bridgette said, pointing vaguely in the direction of all the tables. "Would you like to join us? You get a good view of the stage show."

Delighted, Sam nodded, and took her drink with her as Jasper and Bridgette led her through the crowd.

* * *

The table was a party within itself. Sam was the only official woman sitting at it. Everyone else wore female costumes or was trying to impersonate a specific woman or other. Sam would have sworn the man sitting next to her was the exact image of Barbara Streisand.

Sam traded pop culture gossip, and talked clothes with the others at the table. She laughed and joked, and only wished that Eva could be there to enjoy it with her. But, this was still a job. Sam nearly giggled at the thought of Finch listening to the conversations that were taking place.

"I heard that Alina has a really great singing voice," Sam said to Bridgette.

"Yes, she is lovely, but kind of a diva if you ask me."

"Do you know her?" Sam took another sip of her drink and raised her eyebrows.

"Not personally. What I don't understand is she gets all that work done and then wants to focus on her career," Bridgette rolled her overly done eyes. "Mixed signals much?"

Sam laughed at the joke, though she didn't quite understand.

Barbara Streisand caught her eye for a moment as he poured something powdered out of a small packet into the drink of the man sitting next to him. He caught Sam watching. "Just something to loosen him up a little," he winked. "He's been cranky all day."

"Oh, I see," Sam nodded as she went through the options in her head of what the substance could be.

"Do you want some?"

"No, I think I'm good," Sam moved her drink a little closer to her and focused on Bridgette again. "So she doesn't want to be in a relationship with anyone?"

"That's the current rumor."

Finch spoke up, his voice came in clearly. "Alan is a loaner. Moved away from home several years ago, perhaps because his lifestyle was not what his family preferred for him."

"I guess not," Sam said.

"What?" Bridgette leaned across the table to her, but Sam shook her head as if her comment was not important.

The stage show opened a few minutes after that. There were dancers, joke tellers, there was even a magician/comedian who's shtick was blatant sexual innuendo mixed with pulling a rabbit out of a hat in several different ways.

Alina was next. She was introduced as Alina Watts, and Sam's jaw nearly dropped onto the table at what she saw. It was a woman who came out onto the stage in a sparkly blue evening gown. She had lovely, silky dark skin, full red lips, and black hair that waved over her shoulders.

Her figure in the dress was lovely, and her hands were delicate, like a woman's. And the kicker, the Adam's apple was not evident at all.

"Finch," Sam muttered as Alina began to sing "Blue Skies" in a rich, sensual alto voice. She finished her drink and excused herself from the table so as not to disturb anyone during the performance.

"What is it, Sam?"

"This is more than a man who dresses in woman's clothes."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Alan is not Alan anymore. If I'm looking at the right person, he is a trans_gender_, not a transvestite. He is, in an official capacity, a woman," Sam said helplessly.

"That might be the best way for him to hide," Finch said after a moment of silent comprehension.

Sam took the picture out of her clutch and looked at it in the dim light. She glanced up at Alina, then back at the picture of Alan. The jaw wasn't as heavy, and the eyes looked larger. The neck was definitely thinner. It was the ultimate disguise, and Alan – or Alina – didn't even realize it.

"Finch, it costs a hell of a lot of money to get all of that done. Does his family know? I bet at least one of them does. If they don't, then the guys they sent are looking for someone who doesn't really exist anymore."

"I'd still recommend getting to him, Sam – "

"Her."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Finch, Alan is Alina in every way. He's a her."

"Regardless," Finch said, his voice raised a little. "You need to warn… her, and maybe… she can give you more information about why someone would want to kill her."

Sam finished her drink and continued watching Alina until the set was done. She bowed only once to the applause, and stepped off the stage. By then, Sam was against the wall next to the stage, searching the crowd. She glimpsed the main door and saw two men enter it. They were in nice, pressed suits, and somehow, had gotten past the bouncer. Sam squinted at them, uncertain as to whether they were the same men in the surveillance video.

"Finch," Sam said. "Two men just entered the club. They're standing by the entrance. They're both wearing suits and it looks like they're trying to spot somebody."


	4. Impressions

Sam moved quickly. She found the door to the backstage and pushed through it. Her head felt fuzzy from the heat and the mixing aromas in the main room. She leaned against the wall to steady herself. She was now in a corridor that led to the stage.

Alina was just stepping off and their eyes met. It was definitely Alan. Sam could tell.

"Alan," she said.

Alina's eyes hardened and she frowned. "That isn't my name."

"I'm sorry, Alina," Sam moved forward, holding out her hand. "My name is Sam."

"How do you know that name?" Alina didn't move to take Sam's hand, which dropped back to her side.

"I know this will sound strange, but I came here to warn you. Come here," she cracked the door open and peeked out into the main room of the club. The two men were moving along the back of the crowd, to the side of the room.

"Look out there. Do you see those two guys in the suits?"

"Yes?"

"They're here for you," Sam closed the door, and pulled out her gun from between her legs. It was a tight fit, but she'd managed it.

Alina stepped back and surveyed Sam for a moment before speaking. "Who sent you back here?" she asked. "Which one was it?" Alina gestured to the door.

"Alina, I promise I'm not kidding. This isn't a trick. I came to get you out of here before they find you."

"What happens if they find me?"

"I don't think you'd want to find out."

Alina laughed distainfully. "And it's just you, this little thing with her gun coming to my rescue?"

"No," Sam smiled in spite of her frustration. "I have a friend who is also coming to help."

"I have to do another set at eleven, so I can't go anywhere. Nice try, honey," Alina waved her off and moved down the corridor. Sam followed. They turned a corner and stopped. Sam grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back around the corner. Alina was thin, but she was tall. Sam had to yank hard to get her back.

Sam peeked around again and saw the two men in front of a closed door. Sam assumed it was Alina's dressing room. They knocked calling Alan's name.

Alina moved to run, but Sam held her arm. "Hold on. Stay here," Sam stowed her weapon, and turned the corner, putting on her brightest smile.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" She asked kindly. A closer look at their faces didn't help her match them to the men in the video.

"We're looking for Alan Michael Watson?"

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. "The name doesn't ring a bell. Are you sure you have the right place?"

"We were informed that he works here."

"Well, I can check for you, of course," Sam said. "May I ask what your business is?"

"We are from the law firm of Baylor, Banks and Freeding, and our business is confidential, I'm afraid."

Sam smiled again. "I'll see what I can find out for you boys. Wait right here."

Sam walked away and took Alina back through the door into the main room. But she stopped suddenly. A pair of other men in long coats and suits had just entered the place. Noticing Sam's movements, one of them saw Sam and Alina from across the room and began moving through the crowds and tables.

"Finch! The real guys are here now. The two from the video. The other ones are just lawyers."

"I'm going through that law firm as we speak. Get Alan out of there if you can."

"They know you're here," Sam whispered. "Go back! Now!" Sam pushed through the door.

"But who are they?"

"They're trained killers, Alina. You have got to believe me. Go!"

Horrified, Alina ran down the corridor, past the stage entrance to the back. Racks of costumes and props were piled up, and Alina wove her way in between them, reaching a door.

"If I open this, the alarm will go off," Alina said, stopping at the door.

"It will be a good distraction," Finch said in her ear.

Sam's mind was fogging up again. She blinked and wavered, catching herself by putting her hand against the wall. She shook her head hard and refocused on Alina's scared, but still lovely face.

"Are you all right?"

"Open it," Sam said, drawing her weapon again.

Alina opened the door and the alarm in the building went off, screaming in their ears. Sam followed Alina out into the alley behind the club.

"Mr. Reese was close by, he's on his way, Sam," Finch said.

"Okay." Sam continued shaking the fog out of her head, but it was thickening. Her vision blurred out of focus, and came back again. "He'd better hurry up," She closed the emergency exit and led Alina out of the alley, and onto the street. They walked, trying to appear casual. Sam held her gun at her side in between herself and Alina.

"I don't understand," Alina said as Sam tried to keep walking steadily without running into her. "Why are they after me?"

"We were hoping you could shed some light on that for us," Sam said. "Those first two were lawyers."

"That law firm is in Colorado. My family uses them," Alina said. "I have no idea why they'd be here."

"Alina, listen to me. Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt you for any reason?" Sam spoke slowly, concentrating on speaking clearly and walking in a straight line. The two were becoming more and more difficult.

"There are people who'd like to give me a good slap, but not hurt me, no," she replied innocently.

"What about your family in Colorado?"

Alina cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "What do you mean?"

"I have to be straight with you, Alina. Does anyone in your family know about your sex change?"

"You knew about it, obviously," Alina snapped angrily. She brushed her hair over her shoulder and glared at the road ahead.

Sam laughed sarcastically. "Alina, I thought you were a man dressing up in women's clothes until I saw you on that stage tonight."

"Being a woman though, you would have noticed," Alina observed.

"Thank you," Sam said sincerely.

"For what?"

"For not assuming that I used to be a man."

Alina smiled a gorgeous, white smile and shook her head.

They turned a corner and kept walking fast while trying to appear casual. The streetlights glistened in the blackness. they grew brighter and dazzled Sam's eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again and kept walking.

"My uncle is the only one who knows," Alina admitted.

"What's his name?"

"Jordan Watson. I was named after him – well, his middle name."

"Jordan Alan Watson. I'm on it," Finch said in her ear.

"There!" the shout was distant, barely audible above the noises of the city. Sam turned and saw the two men in the coats break into a run.

"Shoes!" Sam shouted, hopping on one foot after the other as she removed her heels. Alina did the same, and they ran.

The road seemed to bend awkwardly in front of her. Sam lowered her eyes and concentrated on running, listening to Alina's sharp breaths next to her. Gun shots fired. Alina screamed and Sam ducked as the bullets ricocheted around them. She pushed Alina into an alley as more shots fired.

Sam squeezed her eyes shut again and opened them wide, trying to keep her strangely wandering mind in focus. Alina was behind her, whimpering and cursing. Sam eased her way to the corner of the alley, and looked around onto the sidewalk.

With her weapon held ready, Sam knew that she'd only have one shot to take those men down. John said they were professionals, military. There was no way she and Alina would have a chance against them if they got close.

The two men were running and slowed just as a black sedan screeched up to the curb. Sam stepped out onto the sidewalk and fired several shots. She hit one of them, he went down on the pavement. The other one staggered, but remained on his feet. He drew his weapon and fired back at her, as a tall man got out of the sedan.

Sam swayed, and nearly fell back into the alley. Alina caught her and held her steady. "Did he shoot you?"

"I don't know what's wrong," Sam said lazily.

More shots fired and the two girls looked around the corner as John was putting his weapon away. He squatted down next to the one that Sam shot and spoke to him. When he finished, he stood up and found the two girls at the entrance to the alley.

Sam was seeing double and she tried shaking it out of her head. It was getting worse.

"Sam?" Alina said, sounding worried. "Sam, are you okay?"

Sam's knees buckled and she swayed as John reached them. He grabbed onto her and held her upright.

"I can't. I can't think very well anymore. Oh, hey John. I'm - we're okay."

John looked from Sam to Alina and did a double take. He studied the singer for a moment and smiled. "Hello Alan," he said

* * *

The door to John's apartment flung open and he turned on the lights as he dragged Sam inside.

"Wow, this is so spacious. Did you steal this?" she asked, and giggled.

"No, this is mine, Sam," John said, shutting the door. "This was the closest place."

John watched her wander in, carrying her heels in one hand and her gun in the other. Her steps were wobbly at best, and she couldn't stay on a direct course. Luckily there weren't many obstacles standing in her way.

"Sam, what happened? Did you drink anything?" John set his keys on the table and took off his jacket.

Sam's head swiveled around like it was on a tilted axis. She looked at him with dilated eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and her skin was very warm to the touch. She'd taken something inside that club.

"I had one – one drink. It tasted like watermelon… I think. But it was really skinny. I can handle one skinny drink, John." Sam looked out one of the windows and made a giddy noise of appreciation.

"She didn't say anything about a drink," Finch said.

"Harold's in my head. Get out of my _head _Harold!" Sam shouted, covering her ears. John winced at the volume of her voice. Sam did tend to get louder when she was stoned. "Harold's always in our heads." Sam gasped and pointed at John with her gun as though she reached an astounding realization. "That's why he knows so much, John!" Her voice lowered to a frantic whisper. "He's in all of our heads!" Her eyes were wide and she waved the gun in the air.

John rushed over and eased the weapon out of Sam's hand. He put the safety on, setting the gun on the desk, and her shoes on the floor.

"Come here," he said.

Sam stepped closer to him. He hung up the call to Finch and took out her earpiece.

Sam giggled. "John, that tickles!" She scratched at her ear as he took out his own earpiece.

"Sam," John placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her in one spot. He lifted his eyebrows and spoke as if he were addressing an over active child. "Tell me, did you take anything else when you were at the club?"

"What club? Oh, that club, yes. No, I didn't," Sam looked away, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But, I don't know, John. I wish I could think a little better. I sat at the table and – " She snapped her fingers, and she jabbed John in the chest as she spoke. "Barbara Streisand put something in my drink!"

John blinked. "Barbara Streisand," he said tonelessly.

"Yes! That bastard woman!" Sam waved her hands in the air and leaned forward a little, nearly bumping into hm. "I saw her put something in another drink. She must have done it to me, even after I specifically told her not to. That was so rude! I never liked that voice of hers anyway," Sam added grouchily.

"Do you know what it was?"

"What?" Sam blinked up at him.

"The stuff she put in the drink, Sam," John said, radiating patience.

"It was…" Sam looked away from him and tapped her foot on the hard wood floor. "Is this real wood?" She bent over and knelt on the floor, and then lay down on it, her cheek to the wood panels. Her hand moved slowly over it. "I think it might be."

John looked curiously down at her. "Okay. No more questions tonight," he said, giving up on getting any straight answers out of her. He stooped and bodily hefted her off the floor.

"Hah!" Sam laughed loudly. She kicked her legs as he brought her over to the bed and set her down. "John, you're so nice. You always take care of me."

"You should probably go to sleep, Sam," John said. "I'll see if I can find something else for you to wear."

He took a step away from the bed, but Sam held onto his hand. She got up and knelt on the edge of the mattress in front of him as she pulled him back.

"I'm not sleepy, John," she said. Sam leaned closer to him, her hand on his chest. Her fingers slowly moved up the buttons of his shirt to his neck, sliding under his collar. She kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck in the process.

John pulled away, but Sam went with him. Her legs dropped off of the bed and she landed on her feet. He reached around to the back of his neck and took both of her hands in his. He pulled her arms away, holding her hands in front of him as he looked into her eyes. They were wide, and her pupils were dilated. It was Sam, but just _slightly_ off.

"That isn't a good idea," John said quietly.

"I don't see why not," she smiled, and John had to fight against his initial reaction to it. "I want you to stay with me, John. Please? Just stay with me."

Sam freed one of her hands from his grip and began playing with the collar of his shirt. She reached his skin where the shirt collar open, and her fingertips glided gently up his neck to his jaw. She pressed herself against him, closing the small space that stood in between them. "You want this too," she whispered. "I know you do."

She pushed herself up on tiptoe and kissed his lips again, passionately, seductively, and John fell into it for only a moment. She tasted sweet, with a hint of fruit. His hands moved slowly over her arms and back to her hips, but that's as far as they went. It had been a long time since he'd felt the touch of a woman, taken in her skin and her scent. He hadn't realized just how long until then. And it was something he thought he had control over, the desire for such a thing. But in that still moment, his control wavered, and it scared him.

He quickly came to himself again and forced her away.

"Sam," he said as he took a breath.

She smiled and laughed. "You're always the perfect gentlemen. Very honorable. That's something I love about you. But you don't have to be now. Now, you can just be with me." She kissed his neck and his jaw, her hands sliding to his back. "Just be with me, John. There's nothing left to do tonight, even Harold said so. Stay here with me." Her lips reached his ear and cheek. Her fingers ran through his hair as her leg pressed up against his calf.

John pushed her away so they were no longer touching. He rubbed a hand over his face. "You're not yourself right now, Sam. I won't take advantage of that. And I think you'd really regret it in the morning. We both would." He smiled and backed away. "I'll find you something to wear, okay?"

Sam sat down on the bed, her hands in her lap. "I'll be right here," she said as if he'd give her another chance to try anything again.


	5. Fragments

Were they dreams, or memories? Whatever the images were that were going through her mind, she didn't like them. They were strange, disjointed, and some of them scary.

Floating in and out of consciousness, Sam rolled over and realized too late that the mattress was no longer there. She fell onto the floor with thud, the bed sheets twisted around her legs. She was face down on the hard wood floor and opened her eyes.

Her face hurt, and her head pounded. But, this really was John's apartment. That had not been a hallucination. Sam's mind felt too mushy to go beyond to any of the other fragmented memories just yet. She rolled onto her back and sat up, her hair falling over her face. Her stomach churned and her head felt like it was twisted on wrong. The spacious apartment was bright with cheery sunlight. Sam squinted out at the room and saw her spangly dress draped neatly over the desk chair.

She looked down and saw a large white t-shirt on her body. It wasn't hers. It was too big. It looked like a men's undershirt. Sam untwisted her legs from the sheets and realized, to her horror, that she was not wearing anything on her bottom half aside from the panties she had on last night.

"Holy – "

Sam didn't get the chance to finish the thought. Her stomach lurched and she staggered to her feet, frantically scanning the apartment for a bathroom. When she didn't see one immediately, she dove for the garbage can next to the desk and stuck her head in it.

A door opened and shut in between her gags and footsteps came into the room.

Sam didn't look up immediately. However, she was conscientious enough to pull the t-shirt over her rear as she continued gagging into the garbage can.

"I stopped by your apartment and brought some clothes for you to change into." John said. His voice was light and conversational, as though he didn't notice that the person he was speaking to was vomiting into his garbage can.

Sam lifted her head out of the can, a monster rising from the abyss. She parted her hair away from her face and looked at him. "I'm going to die," she said in a gravelly voice. She probably would have welcomed death in exchange for how she felt. All things considered, it seemed like a fair trade - even a little unfair, and in her favor.

"In that case, I guess it doesn't matter what you're wearing." He sounded… peppy, if that was possible for John. That alone made Sam extremely anxious.

She tried and couldn't remember what happened last night. There were bits and pieces that hurt her head too much to piece together. Some of it didn't seem real anyway. The physical evidence, however, pointed to something unimaginable. Sam was wearing one of John's undershirts, which he had put on her on _purpose_. He was also talking very nicely, almost like a human being would sound the morning after…

"Oh my shhhh-hit," Sam moaned, staring at the inside of the garbage can.

John set the clothes on the bed and walked up to her. "Come on. I have a cure for this," he took her by the arms and hoisted her up of the floor.

Her stomach lurched again and she veered to the left. John kept her on course. Sam pulled at the shirt, making sure it was at least over her hips as he marched her across the room and into the bathroom. She waited apprehensively as he turned on the shower to a cool temperature and grabbed her arm.

"No," Sam shook her head like a five-year-old child, her hair moving every which way. "No way!"

"Come on, Sam. You'll feel better," John attempted being persuasive.

"No, it's freezing. I won't do it. You can't make me."

John gave her a look that was terrifying, but Sam moved too late to be out of range. He grabbed her around her middle and hoisted her over the edge of the tub.

"No! John! No, I'm going to barf all over you!"

Sam kicked her legs and wailed until John set her back down underneath the cold flow of water. John leaned against the wall, his shirt sleeves splashed with water from Sam's struggling.

Sam glared at him, the water rushing over her, drenching the shirt she was wearing. He was, however, correct. The cool water felt good on her skin, on her aching head and neck.

"Better?" he asked over the sound of the water.

"Shut up."

"Good," John moved away. He set out a towel for her and left the room. Her change of clothes was tossed into the bathroom a minute later.

Sam stood under the shower for another few minutes. It felt great, actually. She closed her eyes and let the water wash over her.

* * *

Wearing jeans and a plain v-neck top, Sam wandered back into the apartment, drying her hair on a towel. She sat on one of the stools at the island in John's kitchen.

"Where's Alina?"

John looked at her over his shoulder, he had a kettle on the stove. "You don't remember?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Carter has her in protective custody while we figure out who sent those men after her last night," John explained. "You remember that, right?"

"Yes. I… shot one of them, didn't I?"

"You did. You did very well, Sam."

"Thank you. What about the lawyers?"

"Finch thinks they're legitimate. The reason they've come so far to find Alan – Alina is because her uncle passed away recently, and he left just about everything to her. Apparently, he's one of the only members of the family who didn't care about Alan's lifestyle. He paid for it, in fact."

"What do the other family members think?" Sam rubbed her eyes, and moved to her temples.

"Let's see," John leaned on the island across from Sam. "He was kicked out of his home. He has one other sister, and she hasn't spoken to him in years. The uncle is the one who controlled most of the family assets. His sister is Alan's mother, who will also inherit, of course. But according to the wishes of the uncle, her inheritance will be at Alan's discretion." John smiled with a little satisfaction.

"Out of those people, who would have sent the killers?" Sam thought out loud.

"The mother is still alive. Alan's father died years back, before he moved away."

Sam whistled out of surprise. "So his mother is the one who kicked him out?"

"Along with a few other relatives. That family is tightly woven. His uncle must have known what would happen once the will was uncovered."

The tea kettle whistled and John took it off the heat.

"Who gets all of it if Alina dies?"

"The mother and sister."

Sam watched John as he set a couple of mugs on the island and poured hot tea into them.

"Don't you usually drink coffee?" Sam asked, taking her cup and blowing on it.

"You drink tea," he said simply.

"You're being very nice this morning," Sam mentioned with nonchalance.

"I threw you into the shower," John reminded her.

"But it worked."

"What are you driving at?" John sat on the stool next to her, holding his mug. His eyes looked her over, and Sam got a flash of memory from last night. She had been close to John, _very _close. She vaguely remembered touching his hair and… stuff.

"What happened after Alina was safe?"

John shrugged. "Finch was going to do some searches on those two men. They wouldn't give away their employer for this job. Probably haven't been paid yet. Once they're patched up, they're going to be flown out of the state and prosecuted in Colorado."

"Why not here?"

"They're wanted for other crimes in the state."

"Go on, what else happened?"

"You honestly don't remember anything?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think the things I'm remembering really happened," Sam said truthfully. She wasn't going to voice her suspicions unless she had confirmation, and John was going to give it to her if she had to drag it out of him.

"I brought you here and… you went to sleep. Eventually," John looked away and took a sip of his tea, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"And nothing else?"

John looked back at her; a smile slowly crept across his features. Sam usually liked it when John smiled, it was a rare thing. But in this case, she was horrified. She set her tea down on the table and put her face in her hands. She began to moan gibberish as the doomed realization came upon her.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"How can you possibly ask that?" Sam peered at him in between her fingers, and the impossible thought reached her that he may just be messing with her. Sam remembered the bed. She remembered being in that dress, and saying – what did she say to him? "Nothing happened, did it? John, I swear I will shoot you if you keep messing with me," Sam said seriously.

"I wouldn't say _nothing_ happened. If nothing happened, you would have gone right to sleep."

Sam squinted and wracked her brain. "So, something happened, but not everything. Did I really, kind of, almost, sexually molest you last night?"

John shook his head seriously. "Harassed, not molested. You were very persuasive. But you went to sleep right after that."

Sam's head fell into her arms on the counter top and she moaned some more, this time out of mortification. "And you changed my clothes," she whined to the marble surface of the counter top.

"You were still awake for that." He smiled into his cup.

John's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and set it on the counter, putting it on speaker phone.

"Hey, Finch. What's new?"

"John, Carter is down," Finch's haggard voice shattered the air in the apartment and everything seemed to go completely still. "Alina is missing. The two assassins are still in custody. There's someone else trying to get to her."

John was off the stool and grabbed his jacket.

"Is Carter okay?" Sam asked.

"She's been taken to Bellevue. I have yet to learn of her condition. Detective Fusco just called and informed me of the situation. Apparently, she was taken by surprise – "

"Can you track Alina, Finch?" John asked, tucking his gun into the back of his pants as Sam slipped on the pair of flats that John brought with her clothes.

"She didn't have a phone with her. On the bright side, the fact that she's missing and not dead could mean that she was able to escape before whoever it was got to her."

"She's going to run," John muttered.

"Run to where? Her family has loads of resources. Where can she go?" Sam reasoned. She found her gun on John's desk, and her clutch, which carried her phone and wallet. She pulled the phone out and tucked it into her pocket, the gun went into the waistband of her jeans.

"That's what we need to find out," Finch said anxiously.

"Where was Carter holding her, Finch?" John asked, picking up his phone and turning out the lights in the apartment.

Finch gave him the address. "I'll check the area first," John muttered.

"There are policemen swarming that area now, Mr. Reese," Finch warned. "They're looking for the shooter."

"Then I'll check it carefully."

"I can go to the hospital to find Carter," Sam volunteered.

John looked at her, but she already knew what his protest would be. "Look, John. It doesn't matter anymore. If Carter knows I'm still here, what's the harm? I want to make sure she's okay. And maybe she can ID the third shooter." Strange, Sam thought as they went out the door, I'm starting to talk like them.


	6. Square One

Sam hated hospitals. Maybe it was the strange smell, or the odd way things were lit, or even all of the strange equipment that rattled through the hallways. Perhaps it was just because they always tended to have a cold, unfeeling air about them.

The guard at a help desk informed her that Carter was still in the ER. She was refusing to be checked in. Sam took that as a good sign. The detective was conscious and yelling at people. She must not be too badly hurt.

Sam made her way to the emergency room and found Carter, sitting up on a bed, pulling her jacket on with one arm. The other was in a bandage and a small sling, holding it in place.

The detective, like mostly everyone else, believed Sam to be dead. Sam would have preferred to keep it that way. But there are some things you just can't help.

Sam reached over and helped Carter with her jacket, pulling it over her shoulder. She straightened it out for her as Carter looked up. Her eyes grew wide, and then narrowed as she went through the realization of seeing the supposedly dead person standing in front of her.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Carter said. "And you seem pretty solid to me, Sam."

Sam smiled sheepishly. "There was a big mix up with paperwork and, you know, toe tags…"

"It's good to see you're okay," Carter admitted with a shrug that made her wince. "But I should arrest you just for standing there." Carter looked Sam over for a moment before she continued. "You're still helping them, aren't you?"

"I already got myself in too deep to get out again. I had to protect the people I love who are still left. Dying seemed like the best option at the time."

Carter shook her head and smiled wryly. "And that's the only reason you're going to give me?"

Sam's eyes flicked around then went back to Carter. "Um, for now, yes."

"Well," Carter got to her feet slowly. Sam held onto her good arm to steady her. "I won't tell you how dangerous it is, what you're doing and why you're doing it. You should know that by now."

"I appreciate that," Sam said. "I came to check on you. We heard that you were taken by surprise?"

"One shooter. Her face was covered."

"It was a her?"

"Definitely," Carter began to walk steadily out of the ER. No one seemed to try to stop her, so Sam followed.

"I had my vest on, and that took some hits, but she got me right on the edge, on my shoulder. It was a lucky shot, if I'm any judge of how she was handling that gun. It makes me wonder if this was their Plan B, or if there's something else we're going to run into," Carter said thoughtfully. "Because Plan A is already on its way back to Centennial."

"What about Alina?"

"She got away – that's what I hope anyway. I told her to run."

"John's trying to find her now."

"I sure hope he can before that woman does."

"Me too."

* * *

Sam walked out of the hospital, putting her earpiece in.

"How's Carter?" Finch asked right away.

"She'll be fine. She's a little pissed, but I don't blame her," Sam explained. "Has John found anything yet?"

"The police have set up a perimeter, but I think Alina's gone beyond that now," John's voice came through the earpiece in reply. "She's alone and she's scared."

"Carter says that the shooter isn't a professional, like the two that were sent before. And it's a woman. She didn't see her face."

"Sister, or mother?" John asked.

"Flip a coin," Finch added.

"Still could be an aunt or a cousin too. Do you think that one of them would have come all the way out here?" Sam walked across the hospital parking lot, and through the garage. She pretended not to notice the strange looks she was getting as she spoke.

"Their alibi would be shot to hell," John thought out loud.

"There are always enough friends and family to fabricate alibis, especially when it concerns the wealthy," Finch explained.

"That's true. Sad, but true," Sam admitted with a sigh. "Alina is a loaner. She doesn't have any friends that we know of that she could stay with. She wouldn't try hiding on the street, like in a shelter or anywhere."

"Why do you think that?" Finch asked.

"Because she's too classy. She practically oozed it when I was with her last night. She has her own set of standards, Finch."

"She's right," John agreed. "Alina would go somewhere she feels safe."

Sam checked the time on her phone. It was already coming close to evening. She must have slept longer than she realized. Then again, when did she finally go to sleep last night? Sam gave up on trying to remember anything clearly from the night before – although, she would have liked to remember sexually harassing John second by second, from beginning to end rather than in the fragments she actually had.

"So, where would she feel safe?" Finch asked generally, interrupting Sam's train of thought.

She thought on the question. Alina couldn't go home, they'd find her there. Sam tried to think like Alina did. Where would she go? Somewhere closed off; somewhere that didn't allow just anybody to wander in –

"Oh jeez!" Sam said as it dawned on her.

"I'm on my way to Chic," John said.

"I'll race you," Sam ran across the street and hailed a cab.

* * *

It was a Friday evening – happy hour. Alina couldn't possibly still be thinking about doing her show after all that happened. That would put her out in the open for one thing.

Sam threw some cash at the cab driver and leaped out of the taxi. She checked to make sure her gun was still in place. There were people already queuing up in front of the doors to Chic. Even thought it was still early, the place was probably packed with some of the most uniquely dressed people Sam would ever see.

Sam, being dressed normally and wearing barely any makeup, figured she wouldn't immediately get in the front doors like she did the night before. She bypassed the main doors and went around the club, looking for an alternate entrance.

On one side of the club was a bakery that shared the same building. The other side was on the corner of the street. Sam tried that side and went all the way around to the back. She reached the emergency exit where she and Alina had bailed out last night. It was locked from the inside.

Sam blew her hair out of her face in frustration and continued around the building.

John was fiddling with a side door, jimmying the lock as Sam rounded the corner.

"That doesn't go into the club, John."

John looked up, acknowledging her presence. "Yes, I know that. But, there usually is shared doorway somewhere in these places."

The lock clicked and John opened the door. Sam pulled her hair back with her hands, attempting to keep it out of her face.

They stepped into the bakery's kitchen. Someone was there, manning an enormous, industrial bread mixer. The sound of it was loud enough that they didn't hear the door open and kept their eyes on the dough. Sam's stomach grumbled, responding to the aromas in the room. It just occurred to her that she hadn't eaten in a while.

John led the way across the kitchen and into a dry storage area. Empty racks stood along the walls, ready for fresh bread and rolls.

"See," John pointed to one of the walls. There, indeed, was a door that didn't appear to be used very often.

John jimmied the lock on the door and they stepped into a familiar looking corridor.

"We're back stage," Sam said, taking the lead. "Alina's dressing room is on the other side."

"Let's start there," John muttered as Sam led the way down the corridor.

She reached the stage and peered onto it. It very was dark, and she saw the line of light along the floor created by the drawn curtain. Heavy bass music blasted from the main room along with excited, slightly drunken chatter from the club's occupants.

Sam nodded to John. They stepped up onto the stage, skirted around the piano after Sam ran into it, and down the other side. Back in an identical corridor, Sam headed down the adjoining hallway to Alina's dressing room. She tried the doorknob. It was locked.

"Someone's already forced their way in here," John said, noting the scratches on the door jam.

Sam knocked. "Alina?" she asked. "It's Sam. I heard what happened with Carter today. I'm sorry."

The pair of them waited for a response. When one didn't come right away, John pulled out his lock picking gear, but Sam put her hand over his. They waited a moment longer.

"Go away," said a soft, miserable voice from inside the room. "Why can't people just _go away_?"

Sam sighed out of relief. They'd found her.

"I'm so sorry, Alina," Sam said sincerely. "We didn't know there would be someone else besides those men."

"I know who it was," Alina's voice sounded closer. "Is that police woman all right?"

"Yes, she's fine," Sam spoke with hope in her voice. "Who was it, Alina?"

The lock on the door clicked and it opened, revealing a lovely and exhausted looking woman wearing a simple pair of jeans and a bedazzled t-shirt. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were puffy. Sam's heart broke for her. She took her hand, but Alina moved further and wrapped her arms around Sam, holding her close.

"I didn't believe you," she muttered into Sam's shoulder. "Even after those men last night, I thought it was a mistake."

Sam looked up at John, who didn't return her gaze. His eyes scanned the corridor, keeping constant watch.

"Come on," Sam said and gently moved Alina back into the dressing room. John shut the door behind them as Sam sat Alina down on a chair in front of a dressing table. Sam sat up on the table top.

"Believe it or not, I actually do know how you feel," Alina still held onto Sam's hand. Sam looked at the table, there was a variety of makeup and hair pins and clips. Sam grabbed a hair tie that looked like a miniature feather boa. "May I borrow this?"

"Sure, I guess," Alina said. She looked up at Sam. "You've had someone try to kill you before?" she asked, her voice squeaking.

"Besides last night, yes," Sam smiled, pulling her hair back and putting it in a bun at the crown of her head. "Alina, we need to know who came after you today."

"It was Cora," Alina said.

"Your sister?" John asked. He still stood by the door, the ever vigilant watch dog.

Alina nodded and started to cry again.

"Alina, your uncle died a short time ago," Sam said. "We think that's why Cora is after you – "

"She always hated me," Alina said bitterly. "I never got why. I never did anything - "

"Your uncle left everything to you," John continued. He was running his fingers carefully over the door jam and didn't wait for Alina to process the news. "Has anyone else been in here? Has anyone tried to break in?"

Alina shook her head. "I've been here for the past few hours and I haven't heard anything."

"Sam, start looking," John said. His intensity was growing. Sam knew that was a bad sign, because it meant that something unfortunate was going to happen soon.

"Looking for what?"

"Someone was in here earlier when Alina wasn't here." John said as he began checking under furniture and feeling along the walls. "Is there anything missing?"

Alina looked around quickly and shook her head. "Not that I can see."

Sam jumped down from the table as Alina stood. She checked under the dressing table, and along the floor. She reached a small closet door and opened it. Different sparkly, feathered outfits were hung neatly on a rack. Sam checked in between each garment and along the floor of the closet. She stood on tip toe, looking at the shelf over the rack of clothes and let out a sharp gasp and covered her mouth.

John was there in less than a second, standing next to her. Alina peered over Sam's shoulder and gaped.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked.

"Bomb! Bomb! It's a bomb!" Sam said, leaping out of her skin.

"Shut up, Sam," John said as he reached toward it.

Sam slapped at his hands. "_Are you out of your mind?_" She asked sharply. "Carter was right. _This_ must be Plan B."

"Take out everything to make sure you've hit your target," John muttered.

"That's a little excessive, isn't it?" Alina asked desperately.

The three of them stared at the device. Wires were connected to what looked like a cheap phone, the trigger, which was then connected to a few blocks of explosives. Sam had never seen any explosives up close, except when John took an unused grenade out of his pocket once. But she'd seen enough movies to have a general idea of what they looked like. And this contraption was unmistakable.

The face of the phone was dark, lying in wait.

"Finch," John said quietly. "I'm going to give you a phone number. I want you to trace the signal, and any other signals the phone may be receiving."

"Got it," Finch said in their ears. "The phone is the trigger, isn't it? I couldn't help but overhear Sam's exclamations."

"That's what it looks like."

"Who is he talking to?" Alina asked Sam.

Sam tapped her ear once. "We have a friend on the outside."

"Who _are_ you people?"

"The receiver phone would only need one signal to set off the explosion. But it will be nearly impossible to trace until the signal reaches the trigger phone."

"So we have to let this thing go off?" Sam felt panic rise from her stomach into her chest.

"I'm hoping that won't be the case," John said, reaching for the phone again. The screen lit up. "I'm going to try and disconnect it." John unlocked the phone and went through the recent calls list. There was only one number listed.

"Try this number, Finch." John read off the number.

"That's a dead end, Mr. Reese. They must have used a test phone for the first trial run," Finch explained.

"Clever," John said. He found the number of the trigger phone itself and gave it to Finch.

"I'll receive any signals to and from that phone," Finch said.

"Good," John's long fingers went over the wires one by one, getting a feel for what he was looking at.

"Have you ever done this before?" Sam asked.

"A couple of times, when I was in a tight spot. But those were different setups," John said lightly.

Sam's fingers were in her hair and her eyelids disappeared behind her eyeballs. "Different setups?" she breathed.

John turned to her. "You might want to get everyone out of the building," he said in a way that kept Sam from arguing.

Against her better judgment, she took Alina by the hand left John in the dressing room. The thudding bass from the music reached them in the corridor.

"How can we get their attention?" asked.

"I have an idea." Alina dragged Sam down to the end of the corridor and pulled the fire alarm.

They ran to the stage and Sam picked her way in front of the curtain. As expected the crowd was glancing around the room in mild confusion. Sam waved from the stage. The music was turned off once she had their attention.

"Hi! Hello, yes, um, everyone please move in an orderly fashion to the nearest exit and head across the street to safety. This is not a drill. The authorities have been notified. Please don't panic – "

"The building's on fire!" Someone shrieked.

As one, the entire crowd moved as a great, panicky beast, screaming and shrieking. Fake feathers flew, sequins fell to the floor as chairs scraped, and feet in very large stilettos clattered haphazardly towards the front door.

"That sounds efficient," Finch said.

"At least they're leaving." Sam went back behind the curtain where Alina waited.

They ran off the stage and back to Alina's dressing room, where John stood in the closet doorway, fiddling with the trigger.

"Get Alina out of here, Sam," he said without turning to her.

"But John – "

"This was meant for her," he said. "Get her out."

"I'll be there in a few minutes. We can get her to safety," Finch said in their ears.

"John, if you blow yourself up, I will murder you," Sam said, leading the way out of the room.

The women headed down the corridor, past the costumes, and out the same emergency exit from the night before.

"I'm getting a signal, Mr. Reese," Finch said.

Sam had a second to react. She grabbed Alina's arm and ran around to a dumpster that sat against the outside wall of the club. The girls crouched down in front of the dumpster, holding onto each other as the bomb went off.


	7. Falling

The ground shook, and the metal dumpster rattled, but stood as a sufficient barrier between the girls and the blast. Alina screamed and clung onto Sam. The girls were curled up together, their ears ringing.

Sam lifted her head first. Her hearing was muffled, almost like she was under water. The only thing that came in clearly was the ringing. She stood and looked around the edge of the dumpster.

The emergency exit was open. The heavy doors were knocked out of place from the blast. Smoke seeped through the opening as the building burned.

"John," Sam said and moved to the doors, but Alina grabbed onto her.

She was on her feet, and shook her head violently. "There's no way, Sam," she said.

Sam frowned. A cool, hard, calculative feeling came over her that she never experienced before. It numbed her thoughts and her other feelings. She looked at Alina with darkened eyes. "I'm going to find him," she said simply and continued towards the doors.

Alina followed and helped Sam pry the doors open enough for the girls to squeeze through.

Smoke filled the storage room. Sam squinted through it, but didn't see any flames. She got down to her knees and crawled underneath the billowing cloud. Alina put her hand on Sam's ankle, to make sure they didn't lose each other.

Sam's hearing was coming back. She could hear the roar of the flames not too far away.

"Sam," Finch said in her ear. "The connection still seems to be working, but I'm not getting a response from John."

"I'll find him," she repeated plainly.

"I'm nearly there."

Sam heard Alina coughing and hacking at the smoke as she breathed. They reached the corridor. Orange light from the fire reflected off of the walls and the floor. Sam stood up and ran until she reached a dark figure, sprawled out on the floor, just outside what used to be the hallway that led to Alina's dressing room.

Sam knelt down and turned him over. John was out cold. His head was bruised badly, and he looked pale.

"Grab his feet!" Sam shouted. She hefted him up roughly, looping her hands under his arms. She lifted his upper half as Alina grabbed a hold of his ankles.

The girls dragged him back down the corridor, through the smoke. Sam's sweaty hands were slipping and she hoisted him up to get a better grip. Walls were creaking with the stress and the heat all around her. Her eyes and throat burned as she gulped in air and smoke with the effort of hauling John's dead weight.

Finally, they reached the emergency exit and pushed through to the open and cleaner air.

Alina dropped John's feet and collapsed to her knees as she gagged and heaved, her lungs desperate for air. Sam left her and dragged John a little further, next to the dumpster. She lay him down gently on the pavement and examined him more closely. Her eyes streaming and her body exhausted, she tried to hold herself together as she looked at John's lifeless frame.

There was no blood that she could see. The only apparent injury was the enormous bruise on his head and face, which looked ten times worse in the dying light of the sun. She checked his throat for a pulse, then his breathing. The pulse was there, but his breath was not.

Sam reached underneath him and pulled his gun out from his pants. She set it down next to her, making sure he was lying flat. Tilting his head back, Sam said a short, pleading prayer in her head, pinched his nose, and sealed her lips over his mouth, willing her breath to move to him.

Alina had crawled over and sat on John's other side. She picked up his hand and held it in both of hers.

"Come on," Sam said helplessly after the third breath. "Come on, John."

All the noise dulled and faded until it was nearly gone. The screams and exclamations from across the street, the approaching sirens, even all of her thoughts save one were gone on her.

A car screeched into the alley, blocking the entrance. Finch stepped out of the driver's side and half ran, half limped over to them.

"You can't leave me here, John," she said after the sixth attempt. "Alina, check his pulse."

Alina put her fingers to his wrist and waited as Sam forced another puff of air into his lungs. "It's barely there."

"Keep checking it. Please, John," Sam said. Familiar tingling reached her eyes and nose. She fought it. John needed her now. Bawling wouldn't help a damn thing.

Sam didn't notice Finch as he approached. She didn't look up at him, though she already knew the anxious, frightened expression he would have on his face. Her eyes never left John.

His skin was frail looking, though he was still warm to the touch. But she couldn't tell if that was him, or from the heat of the burning building. Sam breathed into him again. She'd lost count of how many this was. "John, please. You can't – you just can't." The tears were coming, but she continued working - breathing in and out into John. In, and out. His chest rose and fell with each breath. "Please – I love you – "

Alina stared for a moment. Sam didn't care. She kept going, her strength wavering when Alina let out a soft cry. Her fingers were still on his wrist. "It's getting stronger, Sam." She smiled that beautiful smile.

With a spark of hope, Sam felt the pulse in his throat. Alina was right, it was a little better. She bent over him once more and breathed, feeling movement underneath her. She snapped her head up as John coughed a little and exhaled on his own.

"Oh, thank God," Finch said.

"John? Can you hear me?" Sam cupped her hands on his cheeks, her fingers brushing absently through his hair as he opened his eyes.

"Hey," he said roughly, with a faint smile. "I guess I wasn't fast enough."

Sam helped him up into a sitting position. He looked around at the three of them as if they'd just come over for a pleasant visit until she punched him hard on the shoulder.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ do that to me again you stupid, stupid idiot!"

Sam sat back, holding her forehead in her hand, completely drained and grateful. A gentle grip came around her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face. Sam looked and saw John's face close to hers. The bruise looked awful. But he smiled faintly and gave her a wink that no one else could see.

"You probably have a concussion," she said weakly.

"It'll keep," he replied.

Finch then pulled out his phone. "I'm still tracking the signal that set off the bomb, if anyone's interested."

John got up quickly. He rotated his head and his arms a little, snapping a few bones back into place. Sam picked up his gun and handed it to him.

"Let's go," he said, leading the way to Finch's car.

* * *

They piled into the car, John and Sam in the backseat and Alina with Finch in the front. Finch handed the phone to Alina as he started up the car again.

"Last time I checked, the signal was headed toward Queens," Finch said. "Keep an eye on it."

Alina took the phone and nodded, watching the little point move along the map.

Sam continued looking at John as they drove. Even the colorful gaggle across the street from the burning club wasn't enough to tear her eyes away. John lowered his eyes to his lap and he shook his head sharply.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked quietly. Finch's eyes moved to them in the reflection of the rearview mirror and back to the road.

Alina wasn't as subtle. She turned around in her seat, facing them, periodically checking the phone.

"A little fuzzy, but I'll be all right," John answered.

Sam reached up and gingerly touched the bruise on his face. It was hot to the touch. John winced a little. "We should get you to a doctor," Sam concluded. "You were hit hard."

John looked at her, the faint smile still on his lips. "And let you have all the fun? Sorry, Sam. I can't do that. I don't much like being blown up."

"Who does?" To her surprise, John lifted his fingers to her face and rubbed off a few smudges of dirt and soot that had settled on her skin.

"It's like someone shooting you in the back," John explained.

"Cowards," Alina muttered.

"Exactly," John agreed.

"I think we're getting close," Finch said.

John held out his hand for the phone. Alina gave it to him and he checked the map. The two girls leaned in for a closer look as well. John looked out the window. "We're about a block behind them."

"We can probably see her then," Sam leaned forward in between the two front seats and looked at the cars next to them and in front of them.

"It'll probably be a rental." John said, his face coming close to hers.

They peered out the windshield as Finch tried to bypass the traffic.

"There she is," John said, nodding. "A couple cars ahead. The black Challenger."

Sam and Alina looked. Sure enough a black muscle car was weaving its way in between the lanes and other cars on the road. They were in a hurry.

"I've relayed this signal to Detective Fusco. The police are following this as well. I think it will only be a matter of time."

After a few minutes, the sun went down, and the Challenger stopped at an empty parking garage that was connected to what would soon be a new apartment building. Both were still under construction.

"She's ditching the car," John said. "Go around, Finch."

They drove past. Sam glimpsed a figure wearing a bulky jacket getting out of the car before they turned the corner.

"Is she meeting someone here?" Sam asked.

"Most likely. She thinks everything went to plan. Alina's gone, so she's running. She has to have an escape route." John opened the door as Finch pulled to the curb on the opposite side of the building.

Sam followed John out onto the street.

"Wait," Alina called to them. "You're both going?"

Sam glanced at Finch, then John. "Don't worry, Alina." She took her hand and smiled as John bent down to look at her through the car window.

"She thinks you're dead, Alina. She won't be looking for you here. We'll be back soon."

"Make sure that you are," Finch said as they closed the door.

* * *

Sam and John split up. Sam was still uncertain about the decision as she started on the east stairwell of the parking garage. John looked a little wobbly to her. It wasn't evident to the average onlooker, but Sam could see it, and it worried her.

She continued up the stairs, checking the levels of the garage. Some were closed off completely, and she kept moving up. The levels soon began to look more and more incomplete the higher she went.

When she reached the sixth level, she stepped out, seeing a tear in a protective plastic barrier. It was a clean cut, probably made with a knife. Sam stepped through. There was no ceiling on this level. Sam looked up and saw the night sky, a few stars coming to life overhead, and a sliver of a moon rising above the buildings.

Sam came back to earth and drew her weapon. She moved slowly, checking around barriers and pillars, keeping a good distance away from the edge of the level. There were no protective barriers installed in some places.

She was halfway across when something poked in her back.

"Drop the gun, now," a woman's voice spoke.

Shot in the back, Sam thought. She dropped her weapon and turned, holding her hands up in front of her.

At first glance, Sam would have sworn it was Alina holding a nine millimeter to her head. But she blinked and saw the subtle differences in Cora's face. The resemblance was uncanny. They could be twins.

Cora was a little shorter than Alina. Her lips were full and she also had lovely dark eyes like Alina. Yet Cora's were angry, and a little scared.

She held the gun with both hands, holding it in Sam's face.

"Who are you?"

"Have you ever used that thing before?" Sam pointed at the gun.

"Just earlier today," her grip tightened on the gun. "Who are you? Why are you following me?"

Sam tried to stay relaxed, calm, as John did when he was in tight spots like this one. It was harder than he made it seem.

"I'm sorry, aren't you the one that just blew up that building downtown?"

"That wasn't me."

"Cora," Sam said, mimicking quite accurately John's tone of voice when he wanted to be stern with someone. "Lying doesn't work on me. I was there… with Alina."

Cora's face contorted into a vision of fury. "I don't know that person."

"Oh? She knows you."

"I don't associate with _freaks_," she spat. The gun shook in her hand. She was about to blow.

"So, blowing up a few other freaks to get to her doesn't bother you, is that it?" Sam's eyes narrowed, she spoke levelly. "People could have been hurt, or worse. In fact, someone was hurt, a friend of mine. And if worse had happened to him, you would be a lot more scared than you are now, trust me. That is, if I decided to keep you conscious for whatever reason."

Cora blinked. She shook the gun at Sam. "Move it," she said.

Sam backed up to the edge of the sixth level of the parking garage. It consisted of just a block of cement that dropped off at the end. There was no barrier, no other place to go.

Cora pressed the barrel of the gun into Sam's chest. "You think I'm scared?" she said in a wavering voice.

"I know you are," Sam said. "I found you. And that only means that other people can find you too, even if you get rid of me. You should give it up now, Cora, before anyone else gets hurt."

Sam felt her heels right on the edge of the concrete. Cora pressed the barrel and little harder and she teetered, holding her arms out to keep her balance.

"Cora."

Both women looked up as John approached, the wind whipping through the level blew his jacket back and tossed Cora's hair around her face. Sam cringed when he came closer. He still looked awful. But at least he was upright.

She felt the wind blowing up her back, a constant sign that there was nothing behind her to catch her if she fell. With Cora distracted, Sam scooted her feet a little further in.

John kept his weapon held stiffly in front of him, trained on Cora's face. He came closer until Sam could reach out and almost touch him. He stopped in front of Cora, his face as hard as the concrete that surrounded them.

Cora pressed the barrel harder into Sam, who still had her arms out and moved her left foot back to keep her balance. "Drop it," she demanded, looking at John.

He glanced at Sam then back to Cora. He didn't move.

"I'll push her out," Cora said loudly.

Sam glimpsed over her shoulder. There were a few trees lining the sidewalk below. Perhaps, if she tried to aim for one of them –

"Do it!" Cora shouted unstably.

John spread his fingers slowly, releasing the weapon. He set it down next to Sam's foot, and stood up again. "Now what?" he asked.

"Just a few more minutes," Cora checked her watch, her eyes on the sky.

"What, are they going to beam you up?" Sam asked sarcastically.

"No," John smiled. "Who's coming to get you, Cora? Is it more of those men you sent for Alina?"

"That is _not_ his name!" Cora said, her eyes were wide and her body shook with anger.

"No," John agreed. "His name is Alan, and he's your brother. He still is… in some form. He's never tried to hurt you."

"He never had to try." Tears ran down Cora's cheeks as she made a decision. "You can't understand. And I don't have time to explain it to you." She pushed hard.

Sam fell over the edge.


	8. Letting Go

It was the strangest feeling, the moment of freefall. Sam let out a short scream, reaching her arms out for anything to hold onto. Her fingers met the ledge of concrete, and she stopped her descent for a split second. But her sudden weight was too much. Her fingers slipped, and she began to drop as a hold came around her wrist.

Sam reached up to it with both hands and looked up at John as he gripped hard onto her arm. He lay on the floor of the level, his other arm supporting him as he strained to keep Sam where she was.

She dangled underneath him, her legs kicking the air. Sirens reached them from the street below. Blue and red lights reflected off of the building. Sam looked down. An unmarked police car, followed by two squad cars was pulling to the side of the road.

Sam looked back up. "John!" she shouted as Cora came into view. She crouched down, and pressed her weapon against John's temple.

"Alan is still alive?"

"Yes," John said.

"Where is he?"

John didn't answer. Sam saw the wear on his face. They couldn't stay like this for much longer.

"Tell me, or you both will drop."

Six levels. Sam looked down. It was really high, but she could make it if she landed in one of those trees… maybe. It would be painful, but she believed she could survive it. Her odds were much more in her favor than John's with that gun to his head.

"Don't do it, John! Just let me go, I'll be okay."

"No." he said firmly.

"John!"

"I will not let you go again!" he shouted. "Never again."

Sam looked up at him in confusion as a spotlight came from overhead. The thudding of a helicopter's propellers hovered above them – Cora's ticket out.

Cora looked up, distracted.

"Sam!"

John slid something out to her and pushed it over the edge. Sam released John's arm with one hand and caught the gun. She pointed it up, and pulled the trigger.

Cora went down. John pushed her gun off of the edge and reached out his other hand to Sam, pulling her up to safety. She gained purchase on the edge with her knees, then her feet. She gripped onto John as he pulled her back to him, and held onto him. They knelt on the concrete floor, holding onto each other for dear life.

Sam closed her eyes as she caught her breath. John held her close and she didn't want to let him go. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. She kissed him on the cheek and held him tighter as the helicopter circled above them. "Thank you."

Detective Fusco reached the floor and ran over to them.

"Was that you hanging on the outside?" he asked.

"Please, don't remind me," Sam said, wiping her face.

John stood and helped her up.

"You look like hell," Fusco said when he got a look at John.

"Thank you, Lionel. You always know how to greet people. If you want Carter's shooter, and the person responsible for the explosion downtown, she's right there," John pointed to Cora, who was on the floor, cradling her left side.

John took Sam by the hand and they left the detective to his work. Sam's legs shook underneath her. She moved slowly to get the feel of walking on something solid again.

Upon reaching the ground level, Sam was immediately accosted by Alina. She and Finch were waiting by the entrance to the stairwell, and she attacked Sam with a tight hug.

"We saw you up there, just dangling," she said. "We were freaking out."

"That is a crude, but accurate description of our reaction," Finch said supportively.

Sam laughed and hugged her back. Alina pulled away and pounced on John, kissing him full on the mouth. John raised his eyebrows and his arms stayed at his sides. Sam stared along with Finch until she released him.

Sam frantically searched for something to say. "They're arresting Cora."

"What are you going to do now?" John asked her, having recovered from the spontaneous attack upon his person.

"After talking to your friend here," Alina nodded to Finch, "and to my lawyers, of course. I might go back home soon. Pay my respects, take care of some business."

"What about your family?" Sam asked.

"They're not all like Cora. And now that I've inherited basically everything, they're going to want to do some major ass kissing. I think it'll be a nice visit." Alina winked.

Sam took her hand. "Good luck, Alina Watts."

"I think might have to go back to Watson."

"That would make things a little easier," Finch added.

Alina's dark eyes rested on Sam and John. "Thank you," she said, hugging Sam again.

* * *

Sam walked at a leisurely pace down the sidewalk. The night was moving on, and people were abandoning the streets, settling in to their destinations for the evening.

John veered a little, and she pushed him back on course. "Are you sure you don't want to go see a doctor?"

"Yeah," he scratched the back of his neck and stretched his arms in front of him. "I've had worse."

"That doesn't mean this," she waved her finger in the air at him, "is a good thing."

"It'll wear off in a little while."

"You have a concussion. You shouldn't be left alone for at least a few hours."

John smiled. "Trust me, I'll be fine, Sam."

"Yeah, just fine, passed out on the floor somewhere all by yourself."

"Well, where do you want to go?"

"I don't care."

Sam looked sidelong at him, her thoughts dwelling on those few moments that her life was literally hanging in the balance. The only line she had was John. And at one point, she had the feeling that she was the only line he had as well.

"I want to ask you something."

"Truth or Dare?"

"No, I trust you to tell me the truth. Maybe not all of it, but still the truth," Sam said.

"Not all of it?" John acted puzzled.

"You dance around the big pieces of the truth, John. You dance badly too, because I can always tell there's something you're not telling me."

"Sorry," John apologized, which wasn't what she was expecting. "It's a habit."

"I can understand it."

"What's your question?"

Sam chose her words carefully. "When we were in the parking garage, and I told you to drop me –"

"Sam, that was the stupidest thing you've ever said," John said with a laugh.

"I would have been okay… probably."

"Maybe after three surgeries, a year of rehabilitation and physical therapy, eating your food through a straw – "

"All right, shut up," Sam jabbed him on the arm and laughed. "It seemed like a better idea than you getting shot in the head."

"She wouldn't have done it."

"She tried with Carter, though."

"I think Cora was more aware of what she was doing with that gun than Carter realized. She was more scared than the rest of us."

"You were scared?"

"For a minute, yeah," John admitted. It had to be the concussion. Sam never believed he would have admitted such a thing if he were completely in his right mind. "I came very close to watching my friend fall to her death."

"I was scared too. My friend was blown up and nearly burned to death earlier today. And... yeah, I was hanging from the sixth floor of a building for a few minutes, so that was a little scary as well."

John gave away a subtle smile.

They crossed another street and continued walking. Sam thought she was following John, but it was possible that he was following her. Maybe they both just needed to wander for a while.

"When I told you to drop me you said that you'd never let me go again. What were you talking about?"

John closed his eyes for a moment as they walked and he put his hands in his pockets.

"It was probably the concussion talking," Sam said lightly when she saw his hesitation. "Forget I asked."

"It was the concussion talking," John confirmed. "I didn't realize what I was saying until after I said it."

"Don't worry then, it doesn't matter," Sam said.

They walked together quietly for a while underneath the streetlights. The only noise was the sound of their shoes hitting the pavement and the rushing sound of a vehicle driving by every once in a while.

Sam would have liked more of a detailed explanation, because she recalled very clearly the expression on John's face as he said those words. When he spoke, there was something that she had never seen before in his expression – a kind of desperate determination. She had a feeling that it wasn't solely about her.

"Before I met Finch, before any of this started," John began, speaking slowly as though he still wasn't sure whether he wanted to say what he was about to say. "There was a person who I was very close to. They were very important to me. But, I let her go, believing that she deserved better. And because of that, I wasn't in time to protect her when she needed me."

John's explanation was unexpected, to say the least. It was the most personal he'd ever gotten with Sam, and she could see right away that this ran very deeply within him. It was something he thought about a lot, more than he would ever admit. But she understood. Losing someone you love is one of the worst things that can happen in this world.

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly.

"I won't make that mistake again," he said solidly.

Sam considered what she could say to him. Nothing would make him feel better, nothing would really fix him. But that's not what she wanted anyway. The John who was broken was the John she knew, the John she loved. Perhaps, all he needed was help holding the pieces together.

"You've saved her over and over since then."

John didn't reply. He looked down at his feet as they continued walking.

Sam took a hold of his wrist, pulling his hand out of his pocket and laced her fingers together with his as they walked. "John, it might not mean much to you when I say this, even though it should, but you are the most reliable, solid person I've ever met in this world. Nobody really deserves you, the dedication you have, if you ask me. And you've always been there when I needed you." The words almost fell out of her before she realized she was thinking of them. "I'm glad you decided not to let me go."

John gave her a little, half smile. "So am I. Thank you, Sam."

"I hope you know that that's your allotment of compliments for the rest of the year, so…"

That got a little laugh out of him. "It's your turn now anyway."

"Oh, right," Sam said as it dawned on her. "You just gave me a big one too. So, let's see," Sam thought for a moment and snapped her fingers. "Oh, I think I've decided on my new name!" she said excitedly.

It had been a little while since Sam was declared legally dead, and Finch had told her that she needed to come up with a new name for herself so the proper IDs could be made. Sam had been putting it off until she came across the perfect one for her.

"What is it?" John said with a hint of apprehension.

"I've decided to steal Alina's. What do you think of Samantha Watts?"

John tilted his head a little and shrugged. "Simple, but convincing."

"That's what I thought." Sam smiled and they continued walking aimlessly through the night.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading and for taking the time to post reviews! I so love to hear what you think!

Sam's new life and adventures will continue in the next story. Coming soon! :)


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